One Minute
by ImpalaLove
Summary: Tag to 11x02. Sam-centric. Short and not very sweet and filled with thick black veins and lots of numbers.


**Oh hi. Remember me? Yeah, it's been a little while but I'm (sorta) back in the game I think. I have a few stories hanging around that have been sitting for a while and I'm still playing around/not totally happy with them. But I figured this one was as good as it's gonna get, so here it is. Tag to 11x02 (I know, so long ago). Sam-centric.**

* * *

 **One Minute**

Sam lets himself have sixty seconds.

He stands in front of the mirror and he looks at his battered reflection and at the thick, black veins crawling slowly up his neck, and he just breathes and counts out the seconds.

 _One two three four_

He just got his brother back.

 _Five six seven eight nine_

And now he's going to die.

 _Ten eleven twelve thirteen fourteen fifteen_

Should've kept running

 _sixteen seventeen eighteen_

Should've double, triple checked a closet that was supposed to be empty.

 _Nineteen twenty twenty-one_

Stupid stupid stupid.

 _Twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four twenty-five_

He just got his brother back

 _Twenty-six Twenty-seven Twenty-eight_

And now he's going to die.

Sam keeps counting, keeps breathing in and out as he stares at the haggard reflection still marked by Dean's fists. It seems ages ago that they stood on opposite sides of an abandoned cantina, trading words and blows and finally, two small, faded pictures that brought Sam's brother back from the edge. He wonders how many times it will happen this way before someone's fingers slip, reflexes not quick enough to pull the other away from an ugly end. He supposes this could be it. This, right now. There is no known cure for the blackness crawling its way through his bloodstream, and he imagines it will take longer than the few hours he has left before the sickness takes him to figure it out. Also, Dean won't be saving him this time.

Because Dean doesn't know.

… _Forty-six forty-seven forty-eight forty-nine_

Sam had meant to tell him. Or maybe he hadn't. He'll never be sure. But now the phone in his hand doesn't have a voice on the other end and Dean still doesn't know and Sam is dying dying dying again seems one of them is always here, always standing in the same spot with no way out that doesn't involve the swapping of places, a plan that's never been a plan. Tentatively, as if it will burn, Sam reaches out to touch the long, black tendrils crawling outside his flesh, fingers tracing them up along the line of his jaw.

 _Fifty-seven fifty-eight- fifty-nine_

 _Sixty_.

Okay. No more panicking. What do we know?

Sam finds the laptop, opens it and searches, searches, searches. Another theme of their lives, always searching out monsters and spells and rituals and cures and happily ever afters that can't stick to their skin the way this newest death sentence has.

Breathe, just breathe. You're fine. You're still alive, which means there's still hope...

And there it is. Hidden inside the words of websites he imagines very few have ever visited, especially not to search for what he has somehow found, phrases swathed in yellow.

 _Purified by fire..._

 _...as a sacrifice is purified by salt._

 _Holy oil._

Sam finds what he needs, wraps the gauze a little tighter, dips it in the holy oil for longer than he needs to, and hesitates a moment before he flicks the lighter to life and lights the cloth. Because this is it. And if it isn't, Dean will never forgive him.

The flame jumps to life. Sam lets it glance against his skin, as close as he can stand, and that is when the voices grow loud, echoing in his ears as he lifts away the newest darkness imprinted into his skin, thick black veins that flee beneath the light of a holy fire. A few more agonizing seconds and then it's over, it's over, it's over.

Sam feels his legs give beneath him, smiling skyward as he leans back against the wall and pushes a hand through his sweaty hair.

He lets himself have sixty seconds.

And then he gets back to work.

* * *

 **Drop me a line/review if you have a chance. Glad to be back!**


End file.
